


all this rotting fruit with you

by galamiel



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galamiel/pseuds/galamiel
Summary: non-chronological drabbles about my farmer nora and shane and their lifetags will be added as more chapters are added





	all this rotting fruit with you

Winter was hard for Shane. It was funny when his therapist told him he had seasonal depression--who would’ve thought that could stack on top of his  _ regular _ depression, huh? Even now there were days he couldn’t drag himself out of bed, couldn’t roll over to look at his wife, couldn’t even manage to feed himself. But Nora, oh Nora, she would give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him she loved him just as he was, and then she’d be up and about with the same boundless energy she somehow had every day. Shane was exhausted just watching her sometimes.

She’d put on a pot of coffee while she tended the livestock, giving an extra kiss to Charlie for him, and when she came back in to put away the eggs and milk she’d pour him a mug and put it on the bedside table for him with a promise that she’d be back later that night. He could always hear her after that, could imagine the rest of her morning routine: waking Jas with a gentle touch and helping her pick out her clothes and dress, pulling her hair back into whatever hairstyle their little girl wanted that day, feeding her a hearty breakfast and telling her that Uncle Shane was having a bad day, that they’d see if he was feeling better later. And then she would walk Jas to school, or to Marnie’s if it was a weekend. 

Nora wouldn’t touch him more than that one kiss during his bad days unless he initiated it, giving him whatever space he might need at the time. He loved her for that, for understanding that while he loved her unconditionally, there were times where even the warm touch of her lips and arms caused the darkness to build up inside of his belly, made him feel trapped and afraid. 

And on those blackest of days she came home rimmed with frost and smelling like the sea. Some days he managed to get up, to hold her hands and kiss her and dance her around the kitchenette while she unwound her scarf and took down her hair, but other days he could only hear her from where he lay in their bedroom as she put away her fishing pole and hung up her winter coat and went through the fridge to make something for dinner.

It was usually pizza (she knew it was his favorite and he knew she would do anything for him), and he could usually pull himself out of bed at that point to shove a slice down his throat and subsequently be pulled into the shower by his wife, but there were too many days where she’d brought him a slice and left it on the end table next to the untouched coffee that’d gone cold in the hours she’d been gone.

Those days, he knew, were just as hard on her as they were on him.

“I don’t know why you put up with me,” Shane said into his pillow, facing away from her, quiet enough that he hoped that maybe she didn’t hear--but of course Nora had been waiting for him to say something all day and she stopped mid-cleanup of the still full cup of coffee. Her hands must’ve been shaking, because he heard the liquid splash down the sides of the cup as she set it back down on the end table. It only made him feel worse.

There was a significant pause, and then the barest touch of her fingers against his back. “Because I love you for who you are,” she said, and then she picked up the cold cup of coffee and went back to the kitchenette, leaving only the salt smell of the sea behind with him.

He wished desperately that every bad day could end with him in the kitchenette, dancing with his wife and peeling her out of her spray soaked winter layers, kissing the cold, wind-burned parts of her face and coming back with salt on his lips. He wished every bad day could end with him sitting her down next to Jas, with his two favorite girls putting their heads together to do Jas’ homework while  _ he _ made dinner--or at least tried to. He was getting better, but Nora had been cooking since she was just tall enough to reach the stove, and nothing tasted better than his wife’s homecooked meals. 

But that was so rare. It was so rare that they’d end the night watching a movie before bed, dressed in warm winter pajamas with the fireplace roaring beside them and Jas snuggled up between them, a little chick with her head resting against her Uncle Shane’s shoulder, her little hand holding Nora’s only marginally larger one. Those were the nights he loved best, though--the ones that lifted a little bit of the stifling darkness off the chest, the ones where he could turn his head and see his wife watching him instead of the movie.

The ones where winter smelled like love instead of the sea. 


End file.
